


Off the Roof, Waving

by dedougal



Series: Army Training [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Community: cottoncandy_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:06:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles knows there's something else going on - too many people having meetings in dark corners. But how does Scott fit in? And Derek? And creepy Captain Hale?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off the Roof, Waving

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt, honesty. I'm liking this verse. This one is for DazedRose to cheer her up, hopefully. With, um, porn.

Stiles wasn’t sure what to make of the secret meeting thing that Derek (oh, god, Derek), Scott, Whittemore and Captain Hale were having but he knew he wanted in on it. Lahey and Boyd from Company C were in there too. Stiles had tried to sneak close to the window of the Captain’s office but Derek had looked up and glared at him and jerked his head in a signal that meant vanish. Scott had been equally closed mouthed. That hurt. Scott never kept secrets from Stiles. Not even when he wanted him to. Even though Stiles was, admittedly, feeling a little hypocritical because he was hiding a massive secret from Scott.

Stiles spent a little time being distracted by the thought of the massive secret that was him and Derek fucking every opportunity they got. The latest opportunity had been during inspection where the rest of the company had been standing at ease at the end of their beds and Stiles had sucked Derek off, Derek’s hand heavy on his shoulder, pants undone and nothing else out of order. Then he’d slipped back into his position at the end of the row while Derek marched up and down, finding fault with wrinkled sheets.

Scott glared at him when he came back from his super secret special meeting but Stiles just very deliberately turned the page of his book and ignored him. Scott’s glares weren’t scary, not when he’d been faced with Derek’s. Nothing was as frightening – or as hot – as Derek’s glare.

 

Stiles wasn’t sure what the fuck he’d done when the note summoning him to Sergeant Hale’s office was passed to him but he didn’t really worry. He was sure to have done something that could act as an excuse. In many ways he was completely unconcerned about what anyone thought. He was going to get laid. Spectacularly.

Halfway across the parade ground (and, yes, Stiles was jogging, smartly, picking his feet up and looking purposeful and fit), Captain Hale waved to him and Stiles had to stop and salute, standing at attention at once. “Sir.”

“At ease, Private Stilinksi,” Captain Hale drawled. He was looking Stiles up and down and Stiles felt dirty, like an oil slick smeared in the wake of his glance. Stiles didn’t move, much as he wanted to, and fixed his eyes on the window of Derek’s office, trying to appear bored and unmoved. Inside he was screaming. Something about Captain Hale – and it wasn’t his rank – made every atom of Stiles’ body yell danger and made Stiles want to sprint to the nearest available cover. “How’s your training going?”

“Sir, good, sir.” Stiles kept his eyes straight even as he felt Captain Hale start to stroll around him. No one would come to stop him – everyone would presume Stiles had done something wrong and was being reprimanded.

“You do have an individual way with orders, though, don’t you, Stilinski?” The words were oily and odious and oozed from the Captain’s mouth. Stiles didn’t respond. Not even when Captain Hale leaned close, sniffing – yes, Stiles wasn’t imagining that – up the column of his neck. So creepy. So wrong. So fucking monumentally disturbing. Yet, Stiles remained at ease, muscles locked, eyes fixed on Derek’s window.

The door to the cabin flew open and Derek came striding out, his boots making the gravel fly with the speed and force of his marching.

“Captain.” Derek ground out the word between his teeth. There was little respect there. Stiles was very aware he was in the middle of some kind of pissing contest or territorial battle between two of his superiors who were both probably capable of tearing him from limb to limb. And that would seem to be a possibility. They were both eyeing him up after all. Stiles couldn’t move although a bead of sweat started to trickle down his cheek from the brim of his cap and he was desperate to brush it away. 

“Sergeant Hale. Nice to know you remember my rank.” Stiles couldn’t really believe that Derek was related to this guy. Derek was equally scary, mind you. Even though they were fucking. He was almost scarier with the possessiveness and the sniffing and all the glorious manhandling.

Behind him, Captain Hale let out a bark of laughter. “We’ll continue this conversation, later. Stilinski. Derek.” The way he drew out Derek’s name made Derek dig his fingernails into his palms. Stiles saw it. He also saw exactly how sharp Derek’s nails were and the blood that pooled in them. He looked between them and Derek’s face, swallowing rapidly, his mind racing. That… and the sniffing? And the extra super strength…

Stiles had the feeling something else was going on and he was going to fucking kill Scott. Slowly. Scott was obviously all caught up in this. Maybe it was drugs, or something, but that didn’t explain the strange and vaguely animal-like behaviour.

Derek spun on his heels and Stiles followed him across the yard, trying to work out what the hell was going on. He didn’t get much of a chance to explain. Derek blew past his office and headed straight to his bedroom. Stiles followed, trying to shake off the enquiring eyes from Corporal Mahealani. Derek didn’t seem eager to explain Stiles’ presence either, even going so far as to grab Stiles’ wrist to tow him along. Instead he slammed Stiles up against his door the minute he had it closed and pressed against him, running his mouth up and down Stiles’ neck, kissing and mouthing and licking. And sniffing. Again with the sniffing.

“What’s going on? D-D-Derek?” Stiles still wasn’t quite sure what they were doing fell within the parameters of them fucking. From the way that Derek was pressing up against him, it certainly felt like it was going to lead to fun naked times. And Stiles’ cock seemed conditioned to react favourably to the warm wet heat of Derek’s mouth.

Derek kissed him, hard. Stiles gave up trying to think at that point and let Derek take control. He was shocked when Derek rucked up his shirt, pulled it off and started to mouth down Stiles’ chest. Derek left red marks as he went, bites and scrapes from his ever-present stubble but Stiles had managed to get away with it. Scott knew about him and Derek and, weirdly, so did Whittemore, but they covered with him for the rest of the squadron.

Derek skimmed his hands up Stiles’ sides, oddly soft. He didn’t have the scars and gun calluses that even Stiles had and his hands were warm. Stiles arched into them, let Derek hold him up, flick his thumbs over his nipples, stroke the trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his pants. Derek caught at Stiles’ dog tags, used them to pull him into another biting kiss.

Then Derek was dropping to his knees. He looked up, eyes fierce as he unfastened Stiles’ belt and zipper, guiding his fatigues down and catching his fingers in the waistband of Stiles’ underwear. “I can’t decide whether I want to bring you off with my mouth or eat you out. So I’m going to do both.”

Stiles bit his fist as Derek jerked his underwear down, Stiles’ cock hard and drooling at Derek’s words. He wasn’t expecting the soft kiss Derek laid on the head of his cock, the way his tongue lavished it. Stiles had always gone for eager over delicate, suckling and swallowing as deep as he could go and he thought Derek liked that. But here was Derek on his knees, basically worshipping Stiles’ cock. Derek brought up a hand to roll Stiles’ balls, caressing, before stroking up his length. Derek used his other hand to tug at Stiles’ hand, bring it up to hold onto his head. Stiles kept his eyes open for as long as he could, looking down and drinking in the sight of Derek, eyes closed in ecstasy, taking him further and further down his throat.

When Derek’s eyes flicked open, looked up, Stiles’ fingers tightened in the mess of Derek’s hair. Derek let out a low moan, a groan, around Stiles’ cock, flattening his tongue against the vein, quickening his suck. With that, Stiles couldn’t last much longer, tugging to let Derek know he was close. He didn’t dare lower his hand from his mouth. He was scared of the noises he might let out, noises that would carry all too clearly to the no doubt listening ears on the other side of the too thin plywood door. Derek seemed to get it, pulling back to cradle the head of Stiles’ cock between his pursed lips, dancing his tongue across the breadth of the head, licking the slit hard with the point. Derek’s hand sped up too, stripping Stiles’ cock until Stiles could neither hold back nor keep his eyes open.

Derek kept his throat working, letting the come spill down his throat and lie in his mouth. He pressed a close mouthed kiss to hollow of Stiles’ hip before taking hold and spinning Stiles around. Remembering Derek’s promise, Stiles went with the movement, spreading his ankles as wide as he could in the restraints of his fatigues. He pillowed his head on his arm, continuing to stop his mouth with his own flesh, as Derek’s oddly soft hands angled his hips. Stiles felt so slutty like this, ass out and ready for whatever Derek wanted to do to him.

The brush of Derek’s hot breath against sensitive skin was the only warning Stiles received before he felt the wet, sloppy press of Derek’s mouth. Despite the fact he was still reeling from his orgasm, Stiles could already feel his dick trying to fatten and fill, especially when Derek gripped his ass hard and held him open. The stubble on Derek’s cheeks was rough and sharp, teasing the sensitive skin as Derek teased his hole with his tongue, pushing Stiles’ own come up and down his crease to lube him up. It was warm and it was filthy. 

Then Derek gave up all pretence of teasing, sealed his mouth over Stiles’ hole and licked his way inside. He had to adjust his grip, pull Stiles wider and open and Stiles rose up on the balls of his feet with the manhandling. Derek was relentless, rimming Stiles like he had never tasted a better ass. Fingers drove in, slicked with nothing more than spit and his come and Stiles opened around him, eager to take Derek in. Stiles’ cock had valiantly recovered when Derek stood up. “Stay there,” he ordered, like Stiles had any chance of moving. Behind him, Stiles heard the sound of Derek removing his clothing, pulling off his own shirt (that drab olive green that he always seemed ready to burst out of) and lowering his own pants. The weird shuffling against the floorboards suggested Derek was too impatient to take the time to unlace his boots.

Stiles forgot all that as Derek pressed slick fingers in – bastard had lube – before lining himself up and slowly easing in. Stiles hid his whimper against his arm but it was good, so damn, fucking good.

“Move, Derek. Please…” Derek’s hand gripped his hip, longer fingers wrapping over the bone and held Stiles close as he rolled his hips up and in. All Stiles could do was hold on to the slippery door and take it. Derek used his lube slick hand to stroke Stiles quick and hard. He wasn’t in the mood for waiting, obviously. Stiles wouldn’t have been had the positions been switched. And that definitely set his head spinning, imagining his mouth where Derek’s had been. Stiles panted quietly into his arm as Derek plastered himself up against Stiles’ back.

“Gonna come for me?” The words were growled into Stiles’ ear. Stiles decided to take it as an order and stopped holding back, leaning into Derek, enjoying his heat, and spilling over Derek's hand. He felt Derek’s muscles tensing, his cock thickening even more as he came too.

They stumbled backwards after Derek pulls out. Derek propped Stiles on the bed and kneelt on the floor again, quickly unlacing Stiles’ boots and pulling them off. Stiles curled up on the bed, floating to the ceiling without the weight of his boots, and bumped back to earth when Derek joined him, tugging his sheets over them and wrapping Stiles in his arms.

They’d never done this. Never been naked together in bed. It’s always been clothes shoved aside and moments stolen. Stiles was a little surprised that it's Derek who ends up with his head pillowed on Stiles’ shoulder and his arm holding Derek in place. Derek shifted until he could look up at Stiles.

“I know you’ve been asking McCall some questions. And after what Peter – Captain Hale – did, you’ve got to have some more.” Derek’s fingers inscribed curves on Stiles’ stomach and Stiles looked over his shoulder to finally get a good look at the tattoo he’d glimpsed in dark corners. Derek’s tattoo matches the pattern he’s stroking on Stiles’ skin.

“I like how possessive you are,” Stiles said instead. His mind was racing again, lassitude of orgasm wearing off. He missed his laptop, wondering when he’d be able to get onto a computer in the rec room and plug in a few of the searches his brain was trying to process. “It’s like I’ve got all these clues and I just can’t put them together. Not yet.”

“You will.” Derek sounded proud of him. “You’re smart. That’s why Peter wants-“ Derek closed his eyes, slowly, eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. He let out a sigh that shook the bed with its intensity.

“Captain Hale wants me to join whatever little group you, Scott, Whittemore, Lahey and Boyd have going on, right?” Stiles played his hunch and was happy to see Derek look up at him again.

“We’re werewolves.” Derek looked shocked, fucking ridiculously so, that he’d said that and Stiles let his mouth hang open. He tried a laugh. A chuckle. Derek was joking, right? Werewolves didn’t exist.

It explained the sniffing.

“And, what, you’re going to form a little werewolf special ops group who- Shit.” Stiles knew his guess was bang on the money by the way Derek’s eyes got even wider. “Shit,” he repeated, unsure what to say next.

“I think we need some humans. Peter thinks it should be wolves only.” Derek sat up, back against his pillows. Stiles missed his warmth wrapped around him.

“So, you’re a werewolf.” The word tasted wrong in his mouth even. But it all made sense. “How long?”

Derek muttered something. Stiles rose up and straddled Derek, really aware of being all naked and gross as he did but decided he didn’t really give a fuck. “How long, Derek? How long has Scott been a werewolf? Do you have a secret club? No. Of course you do.” Stiles was getting a little hysterical. “How do you become a werewolf?” He pressed his hands into Derek’s shoulders until he looked at Stiles, eyes honest and wide.

“I was born one. You can be bitten. McCall was bitten.” Derek looked up at Stiles. “Peter wants to bite you.”

“There will be no fucking biting. I don’t want it. And, if I did-“ Stiles pointed a finger at Derek, stopping just short of poking Derek in the chest. “It’s be you.” Stiles froze at that. It seemed to weigh heavy in the air between them. It was as if he’d promised something more serious than fucking around to Derek, something bigger. Derek captured his flailing finger, using it to draw Stiles into a longer kiss.

“No fucking biting. But, the squad?” Derek broke the kiss long enough to whisper into the space between their bodies.

Stiles kissed Derek back to give himself some more time to think. Which was stupid since he’d already made up his mind. It was pretty much the same reason as his reason for joining the army after all. “Well, who else is going to look out for Scott?”


End file.
